


The Love Interest

by d-ama-ien (ama_janee)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: (references to the DA's death), Abusive Relationships, Beginning lines up with when Damien is in Celine's time loop in DAMIEN, Brief mention of non-con kissing, Bruises, Canon Timeline, Canon-Typical Violence, Chains, Death Threats, Emotional Manipulation, Mild Language, Other, POV First Person, Physical Abuse, Strangulation, Temporary Character Death, Violence, and the ending lines up with the ending of DAMIEN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26875285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama_janee/pseuds/d-ama-ien
Summary: After the district attorney is forced out of their body into the mirror, they are dragged from the void into a strange realm that appears to be under the Actor's control. He has the perfect role for them, too- a love interest. Unfortunately, they love Damien, and aren't quite eager to play along with Mark's plot.Mark can deal with that.He's more than willing to mold, orbreak, his characters into their roles.
Relationships: Damien | The Mayor/Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Mark Fischbach/Y/N | The District Attorney, The Actor/Y/N
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	The Love Interest

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the content warnings in the tags. There's a lot of unhealthy dynamics going on with Actor. Also, "Mark" refers to the Actor in this fic.

_I've been kicked out of my own body._ The realization hits like a sack of bricks, panic sinking into my chest as I watch my body walk away with the face of my lover. Somehow I've been pushed out of my own body, _**my own body**_ , into the mirror I had been walking towards, trying to get a look at the damage done. Well, I assume I'm in the mirror, at least, since I'm looking across the foyer towards the door. The mirror is like a window, glass cool on my hand, letting me see the other side but not get through to it. I turn around to see nothing but black and decide it's best to keep facing the mirror instead of facing the great and infinite stretch of the unknown behind me. I pretend I don't hear a strange whisper behind me, focusing my full attention on the door.

As the day stretches on, I watch the house; the only indication of anything changing is the slowly moving shadows. Part of me is waiting, expecting Damien or Celine to come back to help me, but the other part was quickly becoming resigned to the situation. As if the murder and all the bullshit that happened afterward wasn't confusing enough, I now had to deal with this. I took a deep breath, trying to rationally think my way through the events after William shot me. 

I was dead. Obviously. I was shot and fell off a damn balcony; of course I'm dead after that. My body _was_ dead, but we forced our way into it, keeping it alive by brute strength, I suppose. I guess my body didn't like having three people in it, though I can't figure out why it would boot me out, considering _it was **mine**_ \- I pull a hand through my hair, taking another deep breath. Being pissed off won't bring my body back. Probably. Maybe it would; I've never dealt with body-snatching before. God, it hasn't even been a day, and I'm going to think myself into insanity. I've never felt so alone in my life, and at this moment, I'd be glad to see even William again. 

The sun is low in the sky now, barely any light filtering into the house. I wonder how long it will take for someone to come here, and then I wonder if there are even any remnants of what had happened to be found in the house. Mark's body was in the void- 

" Oh god, I hope it's not the same void as where I am," I mutter with a slight shudder. I did not particularly enjoy it talking to me earlier. 

Anyways. 

Mark's body was in a void, hopefully not this one, but a void. Ben, Chef, and George were long gone and didn't seem interested in contacting any authorities. I have no idea what happened to Celine's body for her to end up in the void. It sounded like Mark may have _Damien’s_ body from what Damien said. William had wandered off to fuck knows where, and my body had _also_ wandered off to fuck knows where. The only bodies that could be left would be Celine's, maybe, since I have no clue what happened to her, and Abe's since it had still been lying there when I was shot. But, hey, maybe he decided to walk it off and was long gone too since that's a common theme in this house. I huff, and it doesn't change anything, but I feel a bit better.

"Why did everyone else get to walk a body out of here?" I demand, shouting at the house, but I hear it echo into the void. It's dark, actually dark, night time already. That wasn't too bad. Just an endless amount of days and nights to go, and this whole shit show will be behind me. I briefly wonder if I can die in here- dehydrating to death sounds a bit more appealing than listening to my brain for all of eternity, at this point- but then my vision shifts, and I stumble as my small view of the outside world vanishes. I hear something cracking, and then I'm falling, nothing but black around me as I plunge downward.

I scream, because what else am I to do in this situation, and then I feel my body connect with something, too slowly realizing that it's water, not managing to get a breath in before I'm submerged in the frigid substance. I keep sinking, no matter how hard I struggle to swim up, and without a proper breath, before I went under, I'm running out of air soon. My lungs are screaming as I accidentally inhale a mouthful of water, choking on what goes into my lungs.

 _I'm going to die here_ , I think, the idea of death suddenly much less appealing than it was before I was drowning. And then, my feet touch solid ground, I'm on my hands and knees, and I'm not underwater anymore, though I am freezing and still soaking wet, coughing and gagging to push the water from my lungs. 

"Holy shit," is the first thing I manage to say, the words burning in my throat. I'm not underwater anymore, and I'm also not in the void. I'm in a room.

I was in an infinite void, I was falling, I was drowning, and now I'm in a room. That makes about as much sense as everything else that's happened, so I don't dwell on it too much. The room appears to be a bedroom when I get my bearings enough to look around. There is a large four-poster bed in the middle, a vanity table and mirror beside me, closet and wardrobe on the other side of the room. There's a door beyond the foot of the bed. The place is simple; all of the furniture is made out of dark woods, not much in the way of decorations, but it's a rich person kind of simple because all the ornate carvings on the furniture are a telltale sign of wealth. 

"Oh, my dear, I can't tell you how glad I am you could make it," I nearly jump out of my skin hearing another voice, gasping in shock as I turn towards the door. I didn't hear it open or shut, but there's another person in the room with me. As if his voice isn't distinctive enough, there's no mistaking that face for anyone else. 

"Mark?" I ask, heart pounding in my chest. Based on Abe's autopsy and the tortured state of his body in the void, Mark is very dead. Well, to be fair, I'm also very dead, but I'm still here anyway. Mark walks towards me with a smile on his face, taking my hand and pulling me up into a hug. I barely process the fact that I'm dry now, just struggling to keep up with Mark's strange behavior. 

"You had a rough time getting here, huh? It wasn't easy pulling you out of the house, but I know you'll be grateful for my efforts," I push myself out of Mark's arms, incredibly confused. I had met him a few times while attending university with Damien, and we were friendly enough, but I never knew him well enough for physical affection.

"What the hell is going on? Is this the afterlife or something?" I ask. I mean, that's the only thing that can make sense at this point. Mark laughs, though, deep in his chest.

"Oh, my dear, this is so much more. This is _my_ place, and I'm going to build the perfect story here," Mark's voice was low, grin almost maniacal, and his answer only raised more questions. 

"Look, either we don't have bodies and are, like, _dead_ dead, or somehow you pulled me into the real world, right? That's the only thing that makes sense," I run my hands through my hair, trying to ground myself and wrap my head around what was going on.

"Careful, dear, you'll start sounding like that detective if you keep wrapping your head in circles like that," Mark put a warm hand on my shoulder, gently running his thumb over my skin to calm me down, "Sure, we might've died, but we aren't dead anymore. I have a nice living body, you have a nice living body, and that's the important thing,"

The words are meant to be reassuring but only upset me more.

"Where did I get a living body?" I demand, pushing his hand off of me, voice raising in pitch with my panic. Mark rolls his eyes, quickly losing patience with the conversation topic, and he reaches towards me again. " _Don't touch me!_ You took that body from Damien!"

"Who told you that?" he's clearly pissed, voice low as he steps towards me.

"Damien did! And I know it's true, he was in the void too because you kicked him out of his body," that much I'm actually sure of. Damien wouldn't lie to me. And, all the supernatural shit was as lost on him as it was on me; he wouldn't be able to fabricate a lie like that if he wanted to.

To my surprise, Mark's face softens, looking at me with pity. "My poor dear, how long he has fooled you," 

"What the fuck are you talking about? Speak plainly for once in your goddamned life, or I swear-" Mark raises his hand slightly, pausing my tirade.

"He really did a number on you, didn't he? Damien has been manipulating you from the start, love," my face falls at the idea, but I know it isn't true. It simply can't be, I've known Damien for years, I know him better than anyone. I _love_ him, and I know he loves me back.

"I know it's hard to hear, he's damn good at what he does. He hasn't loved you for a moment. _I've_ loved you from the day we met, Damien was only keeping you from me. He's nothing but a cold and devilish manipulator," 

"That isn't true. I don't understand, I don't-" Mark grips my shoulders again, pulling me into his chest. I'm shaking, heart breaking as I imagine that Damien has been out to hurt me from the start. But, "That's not true!"

"He got in your head and twisted you up so much that you can't see what's in front of you. He took your body, didn't he? Threw you out the moment it was convenient,"

"That's not what happened," my voice is little more than a whisper, the words nearly sticking in my chest.

"So why did he leave you? Shouldn't he have come back, or at least said something? He stole your body with not an ounce of remorse," Now that was something I couldn't really argue with. He did leave me there without a word, not even an apology. Why would he leave me?

"He didn't care about you in the first place. He only wanted to hurt you, so that he could hurt me," Mark's voice was filled with remorse, he sounded truthful, but he wasn't making any sense.

"If you loved me from the start, why did you marry Celine? Why didn't you admit your feelings? Damien isn't a manipulator-" I cut off with a gasp as Mark shoves me away, his face twisted with anger that I haven't seen since the night Celine left.

" _Shut up about Damien_ ," Mark growls, his voice twisted in a way that isn't natural. He shoves me again, pushing me into the wall and holding me there, hand dangerously close to my throat. "I told you the background, I told you all you need to know, now you have to shut up and play your part,"

"Mark, I don't know what you're talking about," I manage, gasping in a breath before his hand wraps around my throat, squeezing enough that breathing is difficult.

"A love interest!" He exclaims like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "What's a hero without a love interest to fight for? And your backstory is _perfect_ , abused and twisted by the villain, but saved and protected by _me_! Your looks, your sweet innocence, you'll be great. So, all you have to do now is play your part. It's that easy," he squeezed as if punctuating his lecture, before loosening his grip enough that I could get a shallow breath. 

"I want to leave," I gasp out. Mark had clearly gone off his rocker since his death; as an actor, he had always had an affection for storytelling, but trying to force others into some twisted narrative was way beyond that.

"You don't get that choice," Mark growls, and I feel something clasp around my right wrist as he steps away. "You can reach the bed and vanity. I won't let Damien sink his clutches into you again, my love, even if I have to keep you by force,"

This absolute _asshole_ \- 

"You can't fucking chain me up and expect me to fall in love with you!" I shout at him, my building anger finally bubbling over. 

"It's my world, love, I can do as I please," that stupid twisted grin- I lunge towards him, ready to punch that smug smile off his face, but he just casually steps back out of reach as the chain catches my arm, keeping me from getting any closer.

"I'll kill you, I'll kill you the second you step into my reach again," I nearly growl, stepping back to relax the chain, which had made the cuff dig into my skin uncomfortably with the tension.

"He really messed with your head," Mark says with a pitying sigh. "Remember- he abandoned you. I won't do the same. I'll be back this evening, I promise," 

Mark leaves the room, a loud click echoing after the door has latched. The bastard knew I would want to escape from the start if he had a lock on the outside of the door to keep me in. I resist the urge to scream, knowing the only thing that would do is agitate my already sore throat. 

The _nerve_ of him, fucking _strangling_ me while telling me we’re supposed to be in love. And all of that shit he said about Damien, there's no way that it's true. I can't think of any reason for him to leave me like he did, but I'm sure there is one. There must be- Damien probably didn't understand, or maybe Celine told him to, maybe he was planning on coming back but didn't get to before Mark grabbed me. All I had to do was hold out for a while, let Mark loosen up a bit, then I could get out of here, find Damien, and then everything would be fine. As long as Mark didn't kill me first. That would surely complicate things.

I sigh deeply as I look around the room. It would've been nice of Mark to leave me a book or something. There's nothing to do here. I could sit in bed, but I absolutely did not want to sit in _his_ bed, or I could sit at the vanity. So, I sit at the vanity, staring at the mirror. The body looked just like mine- if I didn't know any better, I would have thought it had been mine to start with. Well, Mark looked like Mark, and Damien looked like Damien, though neither of them were in their proper bodies. So, I had no clue as to who this body belonged to. It seemed to be alive- I felt warm, I was breathing, and I could feel a pulse at my wrist, so I guess it at least wasn't a random murder victim. After a few minutes of thinking about it, I decided not to dwell- it was only disturbing to try and find signs that my body doesn't belong to me. I hadn't noticed before, but there were no windows in the room; I had no way of knowing the time or even what the outside looked like. 

I entertain myself by digging through the vanity drawers, hoping for a pin or something that may be able to pick at the chain but not having much luck. Turns out Mark doesn't use pins in his hair; based on the collection here, it seems like he preferred gels and the like. Unfortunate. With no escape plan in sight, I have to temporarily resign myself to playing along with Mark's "story," long enough to get his trust and get a way out, anyways. I shudder as I imagine actually having to date Mark, but it's really the only option. With that decided, my mind continues to wander. 

Being here wasn't much better than being in the mirror. Really, the only thing going for it was the lack of creepy whispers coming from a void. That was certainly an improvement from my prior location. I find myself dozing off as I wait for anything of interest to happen. At a point, I find myself nearly missing Mark, but really I miss something to do, someone to talk to even if he was just pissing me off. I'm soon asleep, boredom, and exhaustion catching up with me, my chin resting in my hand.

I awake with a start, barely catching my head before it hits the table, my hand had slipped off my chin. 

"Ah, were you sleeping? I didn't mean to wake you," Mark was back, and I'm relatively sure that him slamming the door open was what woke me up. 

"Oh, no worries, I was going to wake up soon anyway," I force a smile, shifting uncomfortably under Mark's intense gaze.

"Well, that's good. You seem in a much more agreeable mood now," he sounds suspicious, which isn't good. I don't know what he'll do if he thinks I'm lying. 

"I have to apologize for my behavior earlier. I was tired and scared. I hope you'll forgive me," I make my voice as sweet as I can, thinking of how I would talk to Damien after an argument. Thinking of him makes my heart ache, but it's the only serious relationship I have to reference. 

"Of course I will, I know it's hard to face the truth after you'd been lied to for so long," Mark's voice was pitying, but insincere, more how you would placate an annoying crying child than how you would sympathize with someone. I hold my temper- I have a suspicion that this is some sort of test, and I won't like the outcome if I fail.

"I hope you'll give me time to recover. I can't believe how long I've been misled," I sound as mournful as I can. It isn't too hard with the mood I'm in, basically mourning the loss of my freedom with every word I say. 

"My love, I'll give you everything," Mark steps closer, pressing his palm to my cheek. I feel nauseous at the touch, realizing I'm really giving myself up to him, entirely against my better judgment. His other hand grabs my arm, draws me to standing. The chain attached to my wrist rattles loudly where it drags on the ground, and I flinch at the sound. Mark is looking down at me, staring deeply into my eyes as he runs his thumb over my cheekbone. My heart beats rapidly in my chest, breathing shakily as I realize what he's leading to. I panic as he begins to lean in towards me, crying out, "Wait!" as I push my open hands against his chest. It's not forceful, but it's enough to give him pause. 

"I'm nervous," my voice is barely a whisper, probably, well, hopefully, selling the shy and innocent look, "I've never kissed a man before,"

Mark's brow arches; he doesn't seem impressed. "Is that so? Strange, considering I caught you and Damien making out at my party,"

 _Fuck_ , I had no idea that he had seen that. No choice now, but to double down and double down, I do.

"What? Oh my god," I pull away, even more, covering my mouth and letting a blush of shame rise on my cheeks, "I don't remember that at all," my voice shakes, and I hope that he's smart enough to get what I'm implying. I could never say that about Damien, not even in a lie.

"He took advantage of you?" Mark sounds surprised, I've caught him off guard.

"I mean, he must've, if you saw that- I don't remember ever kissing him, much less _making out_ with him," I've worked myself up enough that a tear falls, and holy shit, I never knew I had this in me. 

"That bastard, he's even worse than I thought," Mark mutters. He pulls me into his chest then, hugging me tightly. A hug, I can deal with, a kiss? Absolutely not. "We'll take it slow, love, I won't ever rush you,"

God, I hope he keeps that word- the Mark I knew in life, I would've believed. This Mark, I felt like I didn't even know, and I was scared of how far he might go with me. I mean, I was literally chained to the wall right now, with a bruise in the shape of his hand blooming on my throat.

"Thank you, Mark," I whisper, more tears falling as he holds me close, muttering soothing words. It doesn't help, just reminding me of how hurt and lost I am. 

"Come, dear, let's go to bed. It's time for you to get some rest," I let Mark guide me to the bed, obediently getting under the covers. Mark grabs my right hand, turning it over and pressing his thumb to the cuff, where it touches my inner wrist. It falls open a moment later, and I try to avoid showing any disappointment on my face. If it's some sort of magic chain- which makes sense considering how it just appeared on my wrist, now that I think about it- then there's no way for me to take it off without Mark. It's a good sign that I'm earning his trust if he was willing to take it off for the night, at least. Mark kisses my wrist where the cuff had been a moment prior, the gesture so tender and intimate that it brings a hot blush to my face. 

My whole body is tense as Mark goes to the other side of the bed, joining me shortly. I don't face him, anticipating some sort of touch or comment, but nothing happens. After a moment of shifting, the lights go out, plunging the room in a darkness so thick I can't see an inch in front of me. I exhale slowly, forcing myself to relax, to breathe slowly and steadily. I can hear Mark, his breathing, and how he occasionally shifts. After an eternity, he stops moving, his breathing deep and steady. I wait still, counting each of his breaths until I'm satisfied that he's really asleep. I knew Mark to be a heavy sleeper, having heard countless tales of the pranks William and Damien managed to pull on him as teenagers.

I move as slowly as possible, carefully sliding out from under the sheets, twisting until my foot touches the floor, gradually shifting my weight until my other foot is secure as well, and I'm soon crouching beside the bed. My heart is racing, but I focus on my breathing, ensuring that I don't make a single sound as I take a single step forward. I pause, listening for any sign that Mark is awakening or even slightly disturbed, but all is quiet. I continue moving as slowly and quietly as I can. Fortunately, the door is about a straight shot from my side of the bed, so I only need to move straight alongside the bed, and then I just need to grab the handle. Easy.

It feels like an eternity before my hand brushes against the wall, quickly finding the trim that surrounds the door. All I need to do is slide my hand across, then up- and there's the handle. Mark is here, so I know it isn't locked. Just gotta get a good grip, twist, slowly, quietly, until it doesn't twist any further. I'm pulling the door towards me, getting a glimpse of the dark and snowy woods outside, feeling the cool air brush across my skin, when suddenly the room floods with light. I'm grabbed on the shoulder, shoved back with force, the door slamming shut as I hit the ground. Mark stands over me, face twisted with anger, and he draws his hand back. 

I scream when the back of his hand connects with my face, my neck jerking with the force of the strike. I press my hand against my face, grateful that the cold air had cooled it enough that it felt refreshing against the tingling skin. I dare to look up at Mark, my heart beating heavily and quickly, fear constricting my chest. 

"I already told you- _you don't get to leave_ ," Mark's voice is twisted in a way that doesn't sound human, and I try to scramble back as he takes a step closer. Suddenly, he's relatively calm again, face tight with anger but not twisted with the ugly rage he had just displayed. His voice is normal when he speaks again, "It seems like you need a bit of training for your role. You can sleep on the ground tonight, and we'll get to work in the morning," 

In my panic to put space between Mark and me, I had unknowingly gotten close enough to the wall for the cuff to clasp around my wrist again. 

"Only good pets get to sleep off-leash," Mark says, voice sweet as he ruffles my hair. The room is bathed in darkness again a moment later, leaving me to curl up on the ground, crying as I cradle my sore cheek. 

Even if I could get out of here, we were in the middle of the woods. I didn't get a good look, but there was nothing but trees in sight, leaving me with not many options in terms of a successful escape. I would leave a trail of footprints to follow, and would certainly get myself lost and freeze before managing to escape. I'd either die out there or be dragged back by Mark anyways. As far as I could see, there were two options: Be a good little plaything for Mark, where I'd at least be treated decently even if I hated myself every second he talked to or touched me. Or, I could be an annoying shit, continue getting beaten and screamed at, but at least not giving in to Mark's whims. So far, this option had been physically worse, but at least I wasn't disgusted with myself. Maybe if I piss Mark off long enough, he'll realize that I'm not the worthy love interest he had imagined, and he'll dump me out into the snow willingly.

Mark withholds food the next day, promising a good meal if I practice lines with him. I keep my mouth shut, even when my stomach growls, even when he loses his temper and chains my left arm too, pulling them tighter to the wall, so I don't even have room to stand. I'm left like that overnight, arms aching by the time he lets me loose in the morning. Mark treats me to a shoulder massage, patiently working out every knot he caused. I hate every second of it, verbalizing my disgust at being touched by him, but he doesn't seem to care. Today Mark teaches me makeup, forcing me to sit at the vanity while he works. I learn how to cover bruises that day, he demonstrates with the bruise that he had left on my cheek when he struck me. I cooperated enough to earn dinner, though he doesn't give me much. 

He unchains me that night, lets me sleep in the bed with his arms wrapped around me the entire time. Mark leaves the next day, and when he comes back, he's angry, and he shoves me into the wall where he forces our first kiss. It's more like a bite than anything else, all teeth and harsh force, his hands digging into my hips. I pull at his hair, scratch at his back, but he doesn't let me go until he's satisfied. I don't know what happened out there to piss him off so much, but even when he's done with me, he's still furious. I watch carefully as he pulls something into existence- it looks so easy when he does it, and for a moment, I wonder if I could do the same. Then Mark is slamming some food in front of me, threatening to take it away if I don't eat quickly enough. 

The next time Mark leaves, I practice manipulating the world. It looks like Mark simply wills things into existence, the world responding to his whims. So, I focus with all my might, and that day I summon a white rose. Unfortunately, I have to destroy it soon after, not wanting to risk Mark catching me, but I know I can do it now. The days pass similarly, gradually blending together the longer I spend in that closed-off room.

Sometimes, Mark barely interacts with me or speaks to me sweetly, and he almost feels like the Mark I used to know. Other days he's a bit more forceful- touching, kissing, too tight grips that leave distinctive bruises on my skin. And, sometimes, he leaves for longer than usual, coming back with a face so darkened with anger that it's hardly human, his voice distorted and unfamiliar as he screams or hits, chaining me tightly to the wall as punishment for something that has nothing to do with me. I don't mind the long days- it gives me more time to hone my skills while he's away, learning the strange rules of this world. Sure, the hits aren't pleasant, and I develop more bruises than I can count, but it fuels my determination, hatred towards Mark, and my desire to leave.

Things come to a head suddenly- we had a cycle of good days, more good days than usual, and then one of the long days came. It was different when he came home that day- he was angry as usual, sure, but the chain fell from my wrist instead of tightening, Mark's hand replacing it shortly after. 

"It's time for your grand entrance," he says, a disturbing smile on his face as he pulls me after him, dragging me out of the room. The snowy ground is so cold my bare feet feel like they're burning, and the clothes I have aren't even remotely meant for this weather. 

"Mark, what the fuck are you doing?" I demand, trying to pull against his grip, my feet slipping when he doesn't even pause. 

"If nothing else draws him out, surely _you_ will," he grumbles. That doesn't answer my question at all, but it seems as though it's all I'm getting as we trudge deeper into the dark woods. Mark stops suddenly, shoving me down into the snow with no warning.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" I demand. Yes, Mark was an irrational and abusive jerk most of the time, but this was ramping it up to an unnecessary degree, my body shaking as the cold quickly permeates my skin. 

I yelp slightly as Mark suddenly swings at me, fortunately using my arm to block the hit from connecting with my face. 

"That's not good enough, dearest," Mark says sweetly, and my guard is down enough that I don't have enough time to block the next swing. It may be the hardest he's hit me to date, and a pained scream is forced from me. 

"Now, you scream for Damien- or you'll be struck with my cane," the cane in question appears in his hand. It looks similar to Damien's old one, except for the gaudy diamond head. My brain is practically buffering, for god knows how long Mark's been training me to never mention Damien, and suddenly he wants me to yell for him? Mark raising his cane cures the buffering; I raise my hands to defend my face as I yell out for Damien. Mark's head is tilted as he listens for something, but the woods are silent beyond my heavy breathing.

"Do it again," Mark hisses, and I don't hesitate to obey this time. The diamond may be tacky as hell, but it looks like it could pack a more solid punch than I can take. I'm interrupted from my thoughts by a voice- it's so faint I can barely make it out, but it's something. Mark looks pleased, waves his hand at me as a cue to continue. This time, I can hear the response clearly- it's Damien, yelling my name. My heart nearly stops in my chest, realizing that he's _here_ \- not here exactly, but somewhere close enough, I can hear him. I don't need Mark's prompting to yell for him again, not thinking the consequences through.

Mark's cane connects with my bicep, and I yelp with surprise. Damien's responding yell is more panicked now and louder.

"One more now," Mark grins as he raises his cane; I cover my head, screaming as he swings- but the strike never comes. I'm not in the woods when I move my hands from my face, I'm in some strange void with a large and cracked glass wall directly in front of me. I can hear voices on the other side- one is Mark, for certain, he's ranting about his story, it sounds like. The other- Damien? Could he really be so close, just on the other side of this strange wall? 

The world shifts again, and I'm alone in the woods outside of Mark and I's room. I don't question it too much, reality has never worked the same here as it should. With a moment of focus, I have warm clothes and shoes, and another moment drives the cold from my skin. Now, I just have to let myself be drawn to Damien. Simple. It's not something I've even tried before, but no better time than the present.

It isn't an easy trip- I haven't done much walking under Mark's care, and I had many bruises and injuries to hinder the journey. The woods are shifting though, thinning, snow melting as I walk through, and I can feel Damien like he's right in front of me. I'm careful as I approach a clearing, a dilapidated house at the center. It feels like Damien is close, so close, but last I heard, he was with Mark, and I absolutely could _not_ see Mark. 

I flinch back behind a tree when a figure appears in the doorway, a dark back mist surrounding them as they step into the grass. My caution is thrown to the wind when I saw his face because it was _Damien_. I step into the clearing, my breath catching in my throat as I get a good look at him. There's the obvious and strange things to notice- the strange mist, the grey pallor of his skin, the strange red and blue flashes that follow his movements. But, there's also his long hair, untrimmed beard, worn clothes. Damien was always so proper and put together in life, but-

"It suits you," I say, my voice easily crossing the clearing, despite how softly I had spoken. Damien's eyes soften as he explores my face- I look much worse than he does, my hair and such may be well maintained, but the bruises and bags under my eyes are obvious. I slowly start to cross the clearing, Damien fully stepping out of the house as I approach.

"We'll make him pay," Damien's voice is low, cold, but it's still more welcome to my ears than anything else.

"Just let me deal the finishing blow," I agree readily, more than on board with going after Mark after all the shit he had put me through.

Damien holds me gently when we finally meet, and I don't mean to cry but can't help the tears that fall. Damien's arms are safe, warm, more loving than I could've remembered. We're silent for a long moment, and it's the most comfortable I've felt since the day of my death.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they run into Wilford and [hit the funky music]
> 
> [insert Markiplier TV Intro]


End file.
